How Many Jedi?
by Uilleand
Summary: A look at Jaq Rand's descent into Jedi-hating... A short piece written for a challenge over at Scary Atton Appreciation Society on dA...then never submitted because I didn't think it was *scary* enough. Yeah...I suck.


_The Jedi are coming._

"Fuck off."

Rain, black with ash and blood, scalded the thin flesh that covered Jaq Rand's skull. Mud sucked and pulled at his heart as hard as it pulled on his boots.

A cold rock face protected his back and scraped his nerves each time the blaster rifle strapped to his back grated across the chalky surface. Dark shadows up and down the trench were the only indication that the rest of their cohort was near. He curled himself deeper into his misery as the cold pushed its way through his sodden clothes and buried itself in his bones.

"Aww c'mon, Rand, don't be like that. Take a guess."

Jaq's grey eyes rose from his own suffering to meet the congenial gaze of his companion.

"Force! How can you be so fucking cheerful? I'm gonna punch you square in that idiot grin of yours."

"Don't change the subject. How many Jedi does it take to change a lightbulb?" (Are you kidding? Jedi never changed anything...)

"Will you shut up and watch the sky?" Jaq shifted his blaster from one numb hand to the other.

"Nothing's gonna come through this storm. We just have to batten down the hatches and hold the line until Karath's fleet catches up."

"No. They'll come. They can't ignore the destruction of Duros. They can't. They may have hesitated after Eres III, but Duros is well within Republic space. Revan's been gone for three weeks now – she'll bring the Jedi."

"Damn, I'd follow that ass into the unknown regions."

"Shut up, Van."

"C'mon. Don't tell me you haven't looked."

"She's a Jedi, Van. Show some respect."

"Oh, lighten up. You're too serious. It's miserable enough here without you adding a whole new dimension of gloom."

"Well, who wouldn't be gloomy, having to look at your ugly mug every day for the last three weeks?"

A wet, meaty splat accompanied the arrival of an oozing clump of mud on the side of Jaq's head.

"What, you didn't develop immunity after 15 years of living next door?"

"Some things are beyond my ability for tolerance," Jaq snarled, scooping the mud from his ear and flicking it unerringly into Van's laughing mouth.

"Augh! Force! That's disgusting!"

"You want disgusting? Look in a mirror…" Jaq ducked under Van's wild swing.

"You are so dead, Rand!" 

Twisting easily out of range of his friend's blow, Jaq spun to drop another blob of ice-cold muck down the back of Van's pants. Laughing at the resulting indignant howl, his foot lurched in the mud and propelled him face down in the soup.

Van didn't hesitate a moment. His beefy form straddled Jaq's prone body. The slighter man twisted but only sank deeper into the mire. When his struggles slowed, Van rolled off, still shaking with laughter.

"How did you survive this long, Jaq? Thank the Force you had me…"

Breathless, Jaq's only answer was another unerring ball of mud.

_The Jedi are coming. _

Van's cheerfulness had all but disappeared. The big man's shoulders were slumped, and his head bowed, eyes on his own feet.

But Jaq looked.

His head swivelled on his shoulders like a utility droid, taking in every detail. Anger dug through his gut as smoke struggled to rise in the constant rain. Each hiss, each fizzle, drew his attention to another body, another atrocity. Hands reached up from the sucking mud, grasping at the sky, bones charred and blackened.

Jaq and Van were separated from their cohort in an ambush three days ago, but not before the gossip had made the rounds. Word down the ranks was that Revan had returned.

Alone.

Revan fought like a herd of rancor, dealing devastation on every battlefield.

"Who needs the Council, if one Jedi fights like this?" Van had laughed out loud.

They both had even taken a couple of shots after Revan had impaled the head of a Mando prisoner on a pike for the soldiers to use as target practice. Van had passed when the second head appeared – a lieutenant who'd questioned her orders – but Jaq's shot had split the woman's skull from 1,000 metres.

He wondered if Van might be reconsidering as they surveyed the horror around them now. They'd passed through this village only a week earlier…the citizens had been scared, but determined to stay on.

"This is wrong," muttered Van.

Jaq said nothing.

"How did they manage this without destroying the buildings?" Van's voice was thick with ashes. "Not a single survivor, and not a single home destroyed."

"They were all out on the street, Van. They were running. The Mandos cut them down as they fled."

"That's not their usual style…"

"Yeah? How many Mandos you sit down and have caffa with lately?"

"Hey! I'm just sayin' there's something weird about all of this…"

One heavy boot dragged through the muck, catching on something a little more solid. Van fought for his balance but lost, arms wind-milling fruitlessly as he toppled. Jaq heard him retch as he untangled himself from the tiny corpse.

He almost missed the other sound.

Diving, Jaq threw himself over Van's struggling form, slamming them both back into the mud. The blaster shot singed his shoulder, which filled the space where Van's head had so recently been.

"SonnovaBITCH! C'mon Van, stay low, stay low. Get the fuck out of here."

He didn't wait for his friend's response, but dragged himself forward on his elbows, ploughing through silt and body parts.

How they resisted the urge to stand and run, Jaq never knew. The slow, steady crawl though grimacing faces, lips peeled back in mocking burnt grins lasted a thousand lifetimes. They stayed low, out of sight, as random blaster bolts ricocheted around them. Once, when the enemy was so close Jaq could hear the Mando'a, his head began to spin from holding his breath and the blackened skulls began to laugh at him, enjoying their death, rubbing it in his face.

He never forgave them for that.

_The Jedi are coming._

It was a mantra against the darkness, against the rot and the stink. A prayer to uncaring skies full of Basilisk war droids.

Van wasn't moving, hadn't moved in a couple hours, and Jaq was torn between fearing his friend was dead and envying him if he was. The big man had remained silent when the unaimed blaster bold had dug through his thigh. They'd managed to find themselves a shallow cave in the hills and, so far, they hadn't been followed.

But Van's wound was going putrid. The smell was awful.

Jaq slouched against the stone, his head between his knees. He wanted to spit, but his mouth was too dry. Laughing skeletons danced around him, cold fingers pulling at his hair and his skin.

_Bastards._

The slow rattle of Van's breath woke him. It hitched and gurgled like a clogged fresher drain, and his eyes were yellow tinged around the faded blue irises. Jaq crawled over, though the detritus and muck, ignoring the stink of purification. He lifted his friend's head into his lap, cradling the too-long hair and watching as if he could will each next breath to come.

"C'mon Van. What'm I gonna do without you watchin' my back, huh? C'mon, buddy. We're almost there."

His friend's form – wasted and stick-like with hunger and disease – weighed nothing in Jaq's lap. "Hey Van...you never told me that joke. What was it? How many Jedi does it take to change a lightbulb, right? C'mon...you can't leave me not knowin'..."

That silly, half-smile, that look when Van knew his best friend was leading him into trouble, into adventure that would surely get them both hided when they got home – it was so pure, so recognizable in that moment. "Don be stupid, Jaq...Jedi never change anything..."

That smile remained, even as the breath left, even as Jaq couldn't possibly will the next one into existence, even as the light died.

_The Jedi are coming..._

When the transport arrived from Coruscant, they left Van's body in that scorched, muddy hell. Jaq, too weak to protest ... too weak to die ... said nothing, but only watched as the planet's surface disappeared beneath the Jedi ship.

Whispers circulated the medbay faster than herpes in a whorehouse. The Jedi council would taking Revan and her followers prisoner after the final battle. There would be a trial. There would be no trial. They'd all be executed. They would all returned peacefully. They would all fight to the death. After Malachor.

Malachor.

Jaq pushed himself to wellness in time for Malachor.

A crisp, freshly pressed Republic uniform rubbed his skin raw as he strode through the corridors of the_ Redemption. _

He heard their footsteps long before they came into view. Two young Jedi, one Master. Jaq wedged himself between two of the cargo crates that jammed the ship's walkways, meant to feed and clothe refugees of the war.

_How the hell are you gonna feed the dead?_

"...I don't understand, Master Cragin," the Twi'lek's voice was low and smooth. "Surely Revan helped turn the tide of the battlefield and saved many lives..."

"But at what cost, Branna? To charge into violence without thought, without clear reasoning...There is more to this conflict than can be seen right now and the cloud of war helps to obscure truth."

"...but..."

"Well, I think they are fools!" A clear voice cut through the Twi'lek's thought. The human male. "How can Revan think she can make decisions where the united wisdom of the Council cannot? Arrogance and pride are clearly stones on the road to the Dark Side. They need to be brought back and stand before the judgement of the Council!"

"But Reinar, you _know_ Revan. There wouldn't be any survivors from Reecee at all if she hadn't directed..."

"Reecee is of no consequence, Branna...not in comparison to losing a Jedi to the Dark Side! What would happen if..."

Jaq could taste the acrid tang of his own teeth as his jaw ground down on itself. _Consequence. I'll show you consequence. _The Republic-issue blade slipped easily from its sheath, as he altered his course to trail the Jedi.

The Twi'lek went down easily. Letting him in her quarters with a smile, when he knocked and asked politely. Very politely. Her pale green flesh parted beneath the sharp edge of his knife, her eyes startled. He thought he heard her laughing at him as she fell to the ground. He kicked the corpse's head, daring the skull to dance at his expense.

_Reecee is of no consequence, Branna...not in comparison to losing a Jedi to the Dark Side_...

He'd show them the consequences of their inaction, of their lazy, self-involved pendantic musings.

The human. He would fall.

_The Jedi are coming..._

"Don't worry Revan, I got this one..."


End file.
